Put the Psych in Psycho
by Amilya Eclair Farron
Summary: [Hiatus] Roy Earle brushes it off. A new partner means that he can do the driving while he can sit back, relax, and enjoy the cruise towards their next destination - "What the-!"... or not. : Co-Written : Full Summary Inside :
1. Prologue

This is co-authored with a friend of mine that I was playing _L.A. Noire_ with. And so, please don't take this too seriously. This is a crack!fic and that means it's only meant for laughs. I really shouldn't be posting it at the moment though since I'm at work (but my friend decided to come skipping in and somehow talked me into it [which isn't all bad since it's being a really slow, and I mean _slow,_ day]). At first it was planned of only having me upload the first chapter but instead she wants me to post the prologue so I guess I'll try to post the _real_ first chapter up later tonight when I get home.

Disclaimer: _L.A. Noire_ and its characters belong to their respective creators; we only own any OCs that appear.

Warning: This does involving quite a bit of swearing and for that we (mainly I) apologize.

Full Summary:  
>Roy Earle receives quite the surprise when it's announced that he has a new partner. But it doesn't take him long to brush it off. After all, new partner means he doesn't have to do most (if at all) of the driving. He can sit back, relax, and enjoy the cruise towards their next destinations...<p>

"What are you _doing!_"

Oh. Right. Earle, did we mention that your partner is a reckless driver? We didn't? Shame.

* * *

><p><em>Put the Psych in Psycho<br>Prologue_

* * *

><p>"What are you <em>doing!<em>"

Something jumped into his throat and he, for a second, wondered if it was his black heart that was the culprit. He wanted to squeeze his eyes shut, to conjure a more common sight he was used to, but couldn't. The same man broke into a cold sweat, stomach churning, and now he wondered if he had caught the flu that was going around. That would explain the loudness of the engine, the blur of colors, that _stupid_ (_no, crazed_; he thought) smile on his new partner's face.

Tires screeched as the brakes slammed on and he barely heard his own scream ("Fuck, what are you doing, you lunatic!") rip past his lips. Earle, without looking in a mirror, knew the color had all but drained from his face. His chest hurt from the constant hammering of his heart and, soon, he realized that he was hyperventilating. Beside him, in the driver's seat, the person was unnaturally calm for what had just occurred.

Finally, once composure regained, the crooked Vice turned and fixed the driver with a hard, menacing glare. "What the _hell _were you thinking! No, are you thinking! No wait. How the hell are you still on the force? No, better: how did you even get into the field? You should be in the loony bin! Or jail, with the way you drive! I mean what the fuck! There should be millions of complaints against you for the way you drive!"

"Didn't they tell you?" Calm, relaxed; it was as if he hadn't heard anything that Roy Earle had screamed in his ear.

"Are you saying Captain Cafarelli knows about _this?_" He seethed for if Cafarelli had known about this… oh, there would be hell to pay.

"Not him; them."

"Who's 'them'? You mean the board or—"

He was cut off by the shake of his head, "No, the writers."

Roy blinked.

"What the hell are you talking about, writers? What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

The second sighed and reached into the inside of his jacket's pocket before pulling his hand out. With it, a plain white envelope emerged and Roy was able to make out in neat, legible penmanship: _Roy Earle_. He stared and took it on command, "Here."

His detective instincts, no matter how much of a corrupt one he was, told him that whatever lay inside this simple envelope wasn't going to be good. But, no matter how bad it was, he had to know. He needed to know why this maniac was here, partnered up with him, and what he was going on about 'writers telling him crap'.

He had to _know_.

Hesitantly, and carefully, he opened it and pulled out the folded parchment that was nestled within. With narrowed eyes, he slowly pulled it out and began to unfold it. As soon as the words revealed themselves it took his brain a moment to register what it said.

_Oh right.  
>Earle, did we mention your new partner is a reckless driver?<br>We didn't?  
>... Shame<em>.

Somehow he knew that whoever wrote this note didn't feel the least bit sorry or shameful.

This had to be some kind of sick and twisted joke. Maybe this was Phelps doing. He had tarnished the man's name and reputation, why wouldn't it make sense if he decided for a bit of payback? But the real question was _how?_ How could Phelps have pulled this off when he was suspended from duty until otherwise noted? He was no longer the favorite among the departments, no longer wanted in any of the divisions. And if it wasn't Phelps that was behind this than why were people turning a blind eye to this pyscho's driving ability? Or, lack thereof to be precise. It just didn't make any fucking sense to him. And, to be honest, it probably never would.

"C'mon, buddy, let's go investigate that crime scene now!"

The glare Earle sent him was lost to him as he already bounded out of the car and started across the street. With a heavy sigh, Roy retreated from the car and began to follow, reluctantly, after.

But not before he spotted, from the corner of his eye, something that didn't look quite right...

"Son of a bitch, my _car!_"


	2. Gray

Quick Note: When you reach that point you'll find that it's like you're re-reading the prologue and that's OK because we meant for that to happen. I tried my best to change it up a bit by putting it in Roy's new partner's perspective.

* * *

><p><em>Put the Psych in Psycho<br>Gray_

* * *

><p>Smug.<p>

That's what Roy Earle felt as news of Phelps affair with a German whore, addicted to dope, no less, spread like wildfire. Barely had it been a week before the community read from their daily papers of the sham of a man he truly was and now spat his name as if it were full of sin. The department was in a buzz, once hearing the news of the reason behind Phelps suspension. No longer did he hear praise about the 'talented' detective, the heroic hero who was too modest for his own good. All he heard was how Cole Phelps was a disgrace _and_ a traitor.

And that was how it should be.

That was how it should have been from the start.

Casually, he walked into the briefing room only to be greeted by his captain and a new face that stood beside him. In the back of the room there was a small group, huddled in the corner, trading away any (false) information about his once partner. It was like a group of women gossiping.

"Ah, Earle, there you are." Cafarelli, the Vice Captain, said as he passed by to take a seat. "Gray, this is Roy Earle. Earle, this is Dolohov Gray: your new partner."

Roy gave a tight smile, not bothering to lift his hand to give the man a handshake, but faltered at the last sentence. He turned to face Cafarelli, "Partner, sir?"

"That's what I said, Earle. He's your new partner, just moved up here due to transfer."

"Right," Roy gave a grin as if he were thrilled that he had a new partner. With a nod of his head, that signaled for Gray to follow him, he took his seat at one of the tables. The two men were silent and Cafarelli called for the others in the room to take a seat so he could begin; momentarily, Roy was surprised, as Cafarelli first began this meeting by warning them not to speak with any of the press. Of course, that made sense seeing as how there were quite a few wanting their names in the paper to spread more conceiving lies (than again, maybe they weren't really) about the detective.

But, as he moved from that onto the discussion of new crimes taken place, Roy found himself only paying half attention. True, he never paid _that_ much attention to what was being said, especially when he had gotten Cole Phelps to be his partner (he had to pull _a lot_ of strings for that to happen), but this time he found he wasn't paying that great of attention to it. No, instead he was trying to act inconspicuous as he studied _Dolohov Gray_ (_damn, what kind of name was that anyway?_; he made note to ask that same question to him later) from the corner of his eye.

"—Earle!"

"Yes sir?"

Shit, how long had the captain been addressing him?

Obviously, that wasn't the response Cafarelli wanted from him. The wrinkles on his face were pulled as his face hardened, eyes growing colder by the second, and his head shook sideways in annoyance. "Get a move on! Or do you feel like you need someone to hold your hand and tell you that everything's going to be OK?"

"Yeah, yeah…" He stood from his seat. Ahead of him, Gray was already out the door, waiting for him to lead the way to which vehicle they would be taking. The walk down the stairs was a silent one until they reached the first floor, "So, what kind of name is Dolohov anyway?"

"A name," Gray replied with ease.

Roy rolled his eyes. "Apparently so, but what origin is it from? Greek, Russia, maybe… Germany?" The last word came filled with suspicion that as curiosity. And, if his newly assigned partner knew it, he didn't let on.

"It's Russian. Dolohov, I mean. As for my surname—"

"Here," Roy tossed him the keys before sliding into the passenger seat, "you can do the driving."

"Wow, this doesn't seem like something that the department would get simply for its Vices." Gray noted as he descended the steps, throwing the keys occasionally into the air, eyeing the vehicle as if he were a master of art that had finished his greatest piece of work for the day.

"That's because it's my car."

"You're joking?"

"No, I'm not joking." Roy said and his head turned when he heard someone blare their horn.

That distraction had him miss the pleased glint in Dolohov's eyes and the semi-sadistic grin that graced his features.

"So, Roy, tell me again where I'm driving to?"

"Weren't you paying any attention back there?" He countered and watched as his partner lifted his head as if shielding himself from a physical blow.

"Whoa, calm down. I didn't mean to hit a nerve. What I meant is: how do I get to this Numbers Operation place? If you've already forgotten I _did_ just move here."

"Oh, right…" Roy muttered and started telling him which streets were probably the best to take at the moment. "If you wanted to, I guess, you could use the sirens. That way we'll get there a whole lot quicker and able to go home a lot sooner."

"Your car has a siren?"

"Yes. My car has a siren. Anything else you want to know?"

Dolohov shook his head and started up the engine. "Nah, I'm good for now. And, hey, if you want to catch a few Zs while on the way there, you're free to. I should be able to remember the directions you gave me. And, if not, I'll just wake you up."

Briefly, suspicion rose within him at the suggestion, but as quickly as it came, it had evaporated. A nap did sound nice to him and, he knew, it wasn't like he would get in trouble for it, especially if he had his hat tipped just about right to make it appear that he was awake. "You'll be sure to wake me up as soon as we get there, won't you, partner?"

"Mmhmm, absolutely." Dolohov let the grin slide back onto his face as Roy adjusted his hat so that it covered his eyes and pulled out of the parking lot.

* * *

><p>"I hope you get the death penalty!"<p>

Roy, although unconscious, gave a muffled grumble of some type in confusion. That wasn't what was coming out of the pretty redhead's mouth a moment ago… that and her voice had turned to a scratchier, rougher tone rather than the musical one she had spoken in.

"You're going to _kill_ someone!"

Kill someone…? That had nothing to do with what he had been dreaming about.

His eyes squinted open and, for a moment, he had no idea where he was or what was going on, before he remembered that he had his hat hiding his view from the publics' eye. But what really woke him up was when the car gave a sudden, hard turn. Blindly, he groped to hold onto something and, although dangerous, held onto the side of the car door he sat beside. As more shrieks came and the car jolted, it was then that he lifted a hand to pull his fedora up to see what was going on.

"What are you _doing!_"

That was the only thing he managed to get out before something latched itself into his throat and he, for a second, wondered if it was his black heart that was the culprit. He wanted to squeeze his eyes shut, to conjure a more common sight he was used to, but couldn't. The same man broke into a cold sweat, stomach churning, and now he wondered if he had caught the flu that was going around. That would explain the loudness of the engine, the blur of colors, that _stupid_ (_no, crazed_; he thought) smile on his new partner's face.

Tires screeched as the brakes slammed on and he barely heard his own scream ("Fuck, what are you doing, you lunatic!") rip past his lips. Earle, without looking in a mirror, knew the color had all but drained from his face. His chest hurt from the constant hammering of his heart and, soon, he realized that he was hyperventilating. Beside him, in the driver's seat, the person was unnaturally calm for what had just occurred.

Finally, once composure regained, the crooked Vice turned and fixed the driver with a hard, menacing glare. "What the _hell _were you thinking! No, are you thinking! No wait. How the hell are you still on the force? No, better: how did you even get into the field? You should be in the loony bin! Or jail, with the way you drive! I mean what the fuck! There should, and will be, be trillions of complaints against you with the way you drive!"

"Didn't they tell you?" Dolohov didn't bother to turn to face the outraged man. It was an understatement to say he was annoyed with the guy, due to knowing all about what Roy Earle had done. But if he was going to refrain himself from punching the asshole in the face he had to stay calm. And Roy wasn't, or he didn't seem to be, aware of how hostile his partner felt towards him.

"Are you saying Captain Cafarelli knows about _this?_"

"Not him; them."

"Who's 'them'? You mean the board or—"

He was cut off by the shake of Gray's head, "No, the writers."

"What the hell are you talking about, writers? What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

That was when Dolohov Gray let out a sigh, and reached into the inside of his jacket's pocket before pulling his hand out. With it, a plain white envelope emerged with it and, purposefully, made sure that Roy could see the letters that spelled out his name. He held it out to him, "Here."

As Roy took it from him and started to, ever slowly, inspect what lay inside of the parchment, Dolohov lifted his eyes upward towards the sky as if rolling his eyes. Which, truth be told, he was. It agitated him that the man was taking his precious time in pulling the folded piece of paper out. Really, what was he expecting to be in an _envelope?_ It wasn't as if someone could fit a bomb in there. He shifted in his seat as; at last, the paper was fully unfolded and, the words scribbled there, was revealed to the arrogant, backstabbing son of a bitch.

But he _needed_ to know.

Keeping count in his head he waited until the words had clearly been absorbed by the other man before exclaiming, "C'mon, buddy, let's go investigate that crime scene now!"

Dolohov didn't bother to wait for his reply. Instead he got out of the car and started across the street. His senses told him that, if looks could kill, that Roy was trying to conjure something out of thin air to end his very existence.

"Son of a bitch, my _car!_"

Dolohov, upon hearing the curse, backtracked to witness Roy Earle lose his cool and go into a tantrum. A few times he had to wave people on as not to bring further attention to the angry detective. Besides, when the real hurt came that was when he'd let the people gather around and whisper at what they were seeing. Only then would the writers be satisfied as Roy Earle's name made the headlines.

A smug, mixed with cruelty and pity, smile marred his face at the thought.

His task had been laid out before him and, though he knew it would be a long road, he also knew that he needed to succeed. He knew that he _would_ succeed in fulfilling this duty bestowed upon him. Even if there would be times where his patience would be at its thinnest, Dolohov Gray was determined to reach the goal he had been given: to drive the Vice Detective Roy Earle up the wall.

Besides, he had the writers on his side.


End file.
